Lukewarm

Some say life should be all encompassing. Every fiber of your being should be flooded with emotion. Love, hate; a burning passion, or cold indifference. You assume if you’re neither, then there must be something wrong. Are you really alive? You feel lukewarm.

But that is a reality, for most at least. Days aren’t identifiable on a spectrum of intensities, rather they are just that… indistinguishable. Why can’t we accept that as a reality? Be content with our mediocrity? Or do we want to attain a perfection, another level of emotion. Whether a heat burning from within, or a cold distance that freezes time. Anything but lukewarm…